


Love in the nick of time.

by DoYouHearThePeopleDeduce



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 12:09:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoYouHearThePeopleDeduce/pseuds/DoYouHearThePeopleDeduce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where the Les Amis' realize just how ill one of their members are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in the nick of time.

Realization had hit the les amis hard when they seriously recognized that soon their number of members would drop by one, that one of their usually reserved chairs would be empty, that the cynical barks would never be heard in that room again. Or in any room for that matter. The group of students had hardly spoke of the illness up until recently, almost ignoring the fact that one of them were slowly deteriorating from a disease, a sickness, that none of them could stop. Carrying on as normal was what the raven-haired boy wished for, so that's what he got. The inevitable countdown was something that they never discussed. So as Grantaire's coughs became more vicious, his skin becoming paler, nobody said a word. If an abundance of secretive worried looks were exchanged, he never caught them. Grantaire never told them the details of his enemy, only that he wasn't going to make next Christmas. His thoughts contradicted his monotone words though. He wasn't going to make it until Christmas, he wasn't going to see Marius and Cosette marry, Jehan become a world famous poet, or Courfeyrac graduate law. He wasn't going to witness Eponine become the mother she never had or Combeferre finally discover all of the secrets of the world he eternally searched for.  
He would never see Enjolras change the world.

 

The hard hitting realization to his friends didn't come until they were called to the hospital in the early hours of November 1st. All of them clad in ridiculous Halloween costumes, as was traditional for the group of friends. Grantaire had appeared to have been perfectly fine, smiling as much as was usual for nowadays, having a drink or two much to Joly's protest, lusting hopelessly over Enjolras idly. It wasn't until they began to collect their stuff that they heard the thud of a body dropping to the floor. They tried to suppress their worry- this had happened before, all the doctors needed to do were up his medication. But as Enjolras lifted him, he could tell by the ice cold feel of his skin that this time it was serious. That this time they might lose their cynic. The thought of it had been creating cracks through his marble revere, and he couldn't take much more until it would surely shatter.

 

His group of friends alone took up a large space of the waiting room, the unnerving silence filling the remaining area. The only noise was the soft whispers of others as they passed through, and the occasion audible sob from Jehan. It felt like months, years even until a doctor finally entered the room- moving over to address them.  
Enjolras himself had been unusually quite throughout the waiting time, obliviously ignorant to everyone else around him as he stared at nothing. It wasn't until the doctor came that he stood up, pacing over to meet the medical woman half way. Enjolras began his string of questions, firing them out one after the other. When will he be out, what do we have to do, will this have any lasting effects. Raising a hand, the doctor -now identified as Dr Howe- silenced him, straying a quick glance over to the group of eager faces. There was no trace of a smile on the woman's face, at most a sad frown that looked almost apologetic. That's all it took to answer his questions.  
There was nothing they could do, Grantaire was not going to come home. Elegant fingers slipped into thick golden curls and his hands clenched into fists as he fell to the floor. That was the final crack, and suddenly marble turned to rubble. None of his fellow Amis moved to comfort him. No one muttered a word. No one shed a tear. Instead they all watched in silent horror as their mighty, unbreakable, stone-faced leader hit the ground, body wrecked with sudden sobs.  
All hope fled from the room, all reassuring thoughts, all hopes and prayers- this was it. When Grantaire had told all of them that he was not going to make it to Christmas, they presumed some time mid December. They were prepared for then, as prepared as one could be. It wasn't fair. None of this was- and that was a mutual thought among everyone in that room.  
Even 'Ponine who has lived a life of let down and neglect from the world, found herself praying to some god that she was wrong. That they were all wrong. Perhaps this was some huge joke she hadn't been told, it had to be. Her calm cover vanished as the thought of what was to come continued to dawn on her, and she now stood also. Curses were hurled in French, angry arms flailed as she approached the doctor. If it wasn't for a composed Combeferre stopping her, grabbing her with the urgency of a worried parent, encasing her in his arms, she would have probably hit the poor doctor until she changed her story- changed the truth. Eponine too crumbled away as tears fled her eyes, hiding her face in the chest of the warm body that held her. She cried in that moment, and Combeferre followed close. When they all glanced back to their broken leader, he was nowhere to be found.  
All they heard then was the soft shut of a nearby hospital room. 

 

Grantaire was a cynical drunk, and nothing more. He hadn't aimed for world peace, he hadn't won a noble peace prize, inspired children, built a hospital in an undeveloped country, saved a life, married the love of his life, brought up a child of his own. In the 20 healthy years of his life he had lived, he'd neither accomplished or aimed to accomplished anything to change the world. He hadn't left his mark on this world, or on anyone he loved.  
It was the unfortunate truth that soon he'd be forgotten, simply a dead corpse thrown in some hole in the ground and left to rot. Well, that was Grantaires opinion. He never saw the adoring smiles his friends would send his way, the looks of concern, the discussions of if they should perhaps get him some help for his drinking, for his depression, for anything.  
He never saw how his teasing tone and creeping smirk could halt anyone in their tracks- either to glare at him or shake their head, amused. But it didn't matter, people noticed him. Moreover, people cared for him. As Enjolras guided his shaking body through the door way to the hospital he guessed to be the room occupied by Grantaire, he had to catch himself before his knees gave way.  
The man was unrecognizable. His skin almost transparent, especially against the raven black of his litter of curls, eyes sunken against rubbed skin, he doubted that he'd have even recognized his adored drunkard if it wasn't for the slight smile that he offered at Enjolras' entrance. "My dearest Apollo, here to visit me?" His throat was rough, and dry, but still he could hear how he joked.  
Enjolras' eyes gleamed with tears and he took a deep breath to make sure that none would spill in the presence of the dying man, living now on borrowed time. "Grantaire, of course I'm here to see you... We all are, I just-" He began to found himself staling. Why in fact was he in there alone? All of his friends sat waiting, yet he came in solo. Thankfully though, Grantaire seemed grateful. "No, Enjy. This is what I need, I can just about handle this." He whispered honestly, a cough shaking his entire frame and rattling the multitude of tubes that descended from his weak body.  
Enjolras found himself wondering if Grantaire knew that he wasn't going to wake in the morning, but couldn't find it in his heart to ask. If R wanted to be oblivious still, then he would play along as always. It was Grantaires death after all, and as much as it pained him, it was up to R how he handled it. So instead of cradling him, assuring him that he'd be remembered, he slid into the plastic chair besides his bed, reaching his hand silently and holding it in a gentle grasp.  
They sat like that, in comfortable silence, hands entwined, until a sniffle came from the leader, followed by a sigh from the cynic. "I don't want your pity, Enjolras. Don't patronize me now, I can't... You just- please." He pleaded, voice laced with both sadness and want. "I'm not doing this for you," The chief began, voice uncharacteristically small. "I'm doing this for me." Because I'm loosing one of my men, my friend, and you're far too young to die- he left unspoken, but Grantaire could almost hear his thoughts, a trait that he had always possessed. "Lay down with me." Eyes fluttered closed and he rested back in his bed, his eyes were beginning to tire and the pain that filled his body seemed to be dulling down. He knew what that meant. "Enjolras, I need you, I need to know you're there." Before he had finished his sentence, the golden haired man had slid into the single bed, fitting himself against the others side with such ease. Grantaires eyes became even heavier, his mind drifting away as he felt himself slowly leave his body.  
Enjolras' silent stream of tears began once again, punctuated by his greatest worry. "Grantaire, I don't want this to be the last time we meet. I have my bitter memories of you, of our arguments, but none of it I can live by. I don't want you to leave me so soon." The words hung in the air and Grantaire smiled, turning his head as much as his dying body allowed him to, to rest his chin above the sobbing head. To him, all of Enjolras' words just seemed like empty worries, lies. But Grantaire responded with as much sincerity as he was able of. "I don't wish to die yet, my dearest. But allow me to assure you, that this isn't the last time I will see you. You'll meet me up in the sky, at the golden gates. Waiting for you. You're my god, Apollo. I'll wait forever. I believe in you, Enjolras." They were the last words before a continuous beep echoed around the small room. In that moment, as Grantaire slept, Enjolras began to weep. Soon enough he was moved out of the room, away from Grantaire. 

He was Grantaires North, his South, his East and West, but he'd realized that far too late. Grantaires song was silenced that early morning in the hospital room. All Enjolras could do was wait for his own to come to a halt- then a new one could begin with both of the men, and a happy ending perhaps.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for baring through this I love you.


End file.
